Flyn Starman and the Realm of the Seventh Sense

By Honnie Polman

After their bus breaks down on a remote road while heading to a school camp and their phones stop working, Flyn Starman, four other students, and their teachers soon realize they are lost. While desperately searching for a way back home, they are unwittingly drawn into a bizarre world where the normally invisible can be seen and thoughts can be heard by others.

As they are immersed in the strange world, the group meets extraordinary characters who explain that they have entered the mystical Realm of the Seventh Sense, and that they must go deeper into it in order to be able to leave. When their individual seventh senses are awakened, they all fall under the spell of the beauty and magic of the realm and their own power in it. But there is an underlying dark side to this mysterious reality, and peril lurks in the shadows. All that they thought they knew and believed to be real is challenged and overturned. Will they ever find a way out of this mystical realm that holds them in its grip?

In this captivating adventure, a group of lost students and their teachers must conquer their fears in a bizarre, mystical world or face oblivion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Oct 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9781982292249

Honnie Polman

HONNIE POLMAN has been a practitioner of natural medicine and an educator in the field of integrative health for thirty years. Her special interest is the development and dynamic well-being of young people. Honnie lives in Victoria, Australia, surrounded by a large garden which is a habitat for kangaroos, wombats, echidnas, frogs, deer, other wildlife, and a variety of birds.

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Copyright © 2021 Honnie Polman.

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of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical

problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The

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Front cover compiled by Anthony J. Wilson

ISBN: 978-1-9822-9223-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9822-9224-9 (e)

Balboa Press rev. date:   10/25/2021

Contents

Chapter 1     Flyn

Chapter 2     The Bus

Chapter 3     Lost

Chapter 4     The Forest of All Creatures

Chapter 5     The Search

Chapter 6     The Keeper of Wisdom

Chapter 7     Spirits of the Oak

Chapter 8     Vanished

Chapter 9     Bespelled

Chapter 10   Unicorns in the Mist

Chapter 11   A Dark Heart

Chapter 12   The Bridge

Chapter 13   The House of Light and Dark

Chapter 14   Unspelled

Chapter 15   The Shadow Dancers

Chapter 16   A Multitude (or Lots and Lots)

Chapter 17   Through the Tunnel

Chapter 18   Junnumurra

Chapter 19   An Exchange

For Justin and Anthony, and for all those

who know there is more…

Chapter One

Flyn

FLYN WAS SITTING on his knees, digging into the soil with a small hand spade. He was scraping away the sticky dirt from around the roots of a leafy plant. An old black dog put his brown nose right under Flyn’s face to see what was going on.

Go away, Scout, said Flyn as he pushed the dog aside. I can’t see anything with your big nose in the way. Scout wagged his tail but didn’t move much—he wanted to see what was happening.

Flyn put his spade down and continued digging with his hands.

There it is, he said to himself. He took hold of the top of a root, pulled hard, and fell backwards as the whole plant suddenly came out. He shook the soil from the yellow root, inspected it closely to see if it was intact, and placed it in a bucket with some other plants—another plant for Gran’s potions.

A fat pink worm wriggled to the surface of the disturbed dirt. Flyn picked it up and held it close to his face to take a good look at it.

You’re a good one, he said softly, then threw it in the direction of several chooks that were scratching around. They ran towards their prey, briefly fighting over it before pulling and pecking the unfortunate worm to pieces and eating it.

Are you there, Starman? Maisy Monnard’s clear voice called out from the other side of the fence.

Flyn liked his surname and the way Maisy always made it sound like something special.

Here, Flyn called back. Near the vegetables.

More like weeds, said Maisy as she came in through the gate into the back garden and picked her way around the stalks, flowers, and leaves that were the vegetable patch.

Watch out, Hetty, she said as she lifted her feet to step over the top of a brown duck.

Maisy lived with her parents next door to Flyn. She had been his friend since he had moved from his father’s outback cattle station to live with his grandmother close to town. That was nearly ten years ago. They were in the same class at primary school, and she regularly came over to play with Flyn in the enormous untidy garden.

Now that they were in high school, they had developed different friendships. Flyn spent his school hours with a group of boys who talked about all things technological and sport, while Maisy had a group of girls who were her friends. But Maisy and Flyn still had similar interests, and she regularly came over to his side of the fence and into the unruly garden. There they would talk about plants, animals, the sky at night, and also a weird thing that Gran called floating energy.

I just rode my bike over to the river, said Maisy. It’s swollen; really full. The water is nearly up to the bridge. Mum says that if we get any more rain, the river will flood.

Just as well it’s stopped raining then, Flyn replied. The current is fast, so it will soon go down.

Maisy looked at the bucket full of roots and their leaves.

Is that for dinner tonight or for your Gran’s smelly mixtures?

These are too bitter to eat. I’ll put them in the drying shed.

Flyn picked up the bucket and they walked over to a small timber outbuilding standing against the side fence. He opened the door, and a pungent odour wafted from inside. Flyn breathed deeply.

I like that smell, he said with a satisfied look on his face. It makes me feel good.

Maisy wrinkled her nose.

Not bad, she said. It does something to your insides.

It’s meant to. They are medicinal plants, after all.

Rows of dried plants hung from wooden rails that stretched from side to side across the little shed. Leaves, roots and flowers of various colours were sorted into baskets that stood on a small wooden bench.

Flyn put his hand into one of the baskets and stirred up the dried lavender flowers. A wonderful fragrance rose to mix with the pungent odour of the leaves, and they both inhaled deeply. Maisy giggled. It really does make you feel good.

Flyn put the bucket of fresh leaves and roots down.

Are you all packed for school camp tomorrow? he asked, already knowing the answer; Maisy was always well organized ahead of time.

Sure am, replied Maisy.

They walked over to the old timber house, climbed up the wobbly steps onto the veranda, and let themselves into the big brown kitchen. Gran was at the old wood burner, stirring a large copper pot of dark liquid. She turned around to greet them with a smile. Her curly red hair streaked with grey was covered by a green headband that was the same colour as her dress. Her bright yellow shoes were the ones she always wore when cooking.

Grumpy Gran, Flyn’s two older brothers called her. But they didn’t really know her. They saw her only once a year when they came down from the cattle station with their father for a visit. They thought Gran was strange. They didn’t understand her, so they called her grumpy.

But Grumpy Gran wasn’t really grumpy. She just had her own way of doing things. She liked living in her big old timber house with its rattling roof and doors that didn’t close properly. She didn’t mind birds nesting under the veranda roof or frogs croaking in the potholes in her garden after heavy rains. She didn’t mind the wombat that had dug an enormous hole under a fallen log in the back of the garden. She liked the little lizards that scuttled amongst the plants and rocks. And she liked the numerous birds that visited her garden daily to splash in the shallow bird bath.

She just didn’t like people telling her it was an unsafe way to live for someone her age.

What do they know about me? she would grumble as she went about her massive garden, which really wasn’t a garden like anybody else’s. Gran’s garden was a collection of old trees, shrubs, and lots of plants that grew all over the place. There was no real order in any of it, and Gran liked it that way. An old gravel path winding through the middle was completely overgrown by lavender on each side, which sent up a lovely fragrance as you brushed against it when walking.

When Flyn was small, his mother had died after a long illness. His father was always busy on their large remote farm, working with cattle or horses, so Gran came to help out. She took care of Flyn and made sure his two older brothers caught the school bus on time every morning. She cooked nice dinners, washed their clothes, and tidied the house. After a few months, when she was satisfied that everyone was in a regular routine and they had found a suitable housekeeper, she said that it was time to go back to her own house close to town.

I’m taking Flyn with me, she had told his father. This is no place for a boy like Flyn without his mother. And there was no arguing with Grumpy Gran once she had decided. So Gran had taken Flyn with her to live on the outskirts of town, far from his father and two brothers.

Gran’s house was an interesting place. It was big and old, with high ceilings and lots of rooms. The room near the front door was called the consulting room. People would come to the house when they were sick or had a problem, and Gran would take them into the consulting room. There she talked to them about their discomforts and problems, and she worked on their energies while they lay on a long, high treatment couch. This usually took about an hour. Then she would come out, go to a small adjoining room she called her dispensary, and mix up a bottle of dark, very bad-tasting liquid—one of Gran’s special herbal mixtures. And people were always happy to pay her for the treatment and her bitter potions.

The energy of the plants is in the mixtures, Gran explained to Flyn. They help to heal the body and the mind.

Gran liked talking about energies. But these were not the energies that come from eating dinner or a bar of chocolate. No, Gran talked about different energies, the ones that are unseen currents in the air and around people. Energies were important to Gran, and no one understood them the way she did. Energies, frequencies and vibrations are everywhere. There are good energies, bad energies, low energies, and healing energies; good vibes and bad vibes; destructive energies, heavy energies, dark energies, and positive energies; light energies and powerful energies.

In Gran’s life, everything had a particular energy. She knew all there was to know about them and how to change negative vibes into positive energies. Gran had a lot of good energy about her, so many people came to see her to make them feel better.

Gran liked to cook mixtures of roots, leaves and flowers in a large copper pot on the old wood burner. She simmered the mass for hours in boiling, bubbling liquid. Then she poured the mixture into a large clay vat and let it stand for days in the dispensary room before filtering it through a fine sieve into large glass jars and bottles.

When Flyn and Maisy came into the kitchen, she turned to smile at them, all the while stirring the pot, and said, Have you packed all your things for school camp tomorrow?

Yes, replied Maisy. We’ll come by in the morning to collect Flyn, and Mum will drive us to school.

All the students were to meet at school, where a bus would be waiting to drive them to the campsite. Apparently it was quite a long trip, so everyone was told to be punctual in the morning; the bus would not be waiting for latecomers. Everyone was excited about it. The adventure camp promised to test their endurance and outdoors skills.

Gran’s friendly green eyes twinkled. The weather has fined up—just right for an adventure camp. You will have a good time.

Later, when Maisy had left, Flyn walked into the dispensary and sat on an old wooden chair in the corner. Apart from the garden and the drying shed, this was his favourite place.

The wide shelves along one wall were full of rows of large bottles containing brown liquids of various shades that Gran had prepared. The bottles were marked with labels with strange names—euphorbia, motherwort, wormwood, schizandra, eyebright, mullein, and lots more too strange to mention. There were also some books and a folder with herbal formulas handwritten by Gran.

On a bench with a sink and tap stood measuring vials, funnels, and smaller round bottles. After seeing a patient, Gran would come out of the consulting room into the dispensary, concentrating fiercely, mumbling softly. She would pull large bottles off the shelves, measure out brown liquids, and pour them into a small bottle. She would write the person’s name on the label, along with instructions on how much to take. Then she would hold the bottle and give it a very precise shake. Flyn thought that this was almost magical and that it turned the herbal mixture into a potion with energies. She would then scribble the formula she had just mixed up on a piece of paper with the person’s name and put it into a folder.

Along the opposite wall was a cupboard with narrow shelves lined with hundreds of tiny brown bottles full of clear fluids. The small print on these miniscule bottles showed even weirder names than the herbal liquids. They were homoeopathics—a very potent form of energy medicine, Gran had told Flyn—and to use them well took great skill and understanding. Gran certainly had lots of that.

A ray of sunshine came in through the window and lit up a red-coloured jug. Flyn felt happy just sitting in the corner on the old chair. Tomorrow he would go on the school adventure camp. He got up and went outside to take a walk around the garden. He patted Scout on his big black head and told him he would be away for almost a week. Scout wagged his tail and snuffled his wet nose into Flyn’s warm hands.

Chapter Two

The Bus

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Flyn got up early. He had woken several times during the night and had heard the rain pelting down on the roof. He pulled aside the curtain and was relieved to see the sun peeking out from behind grey clouds. Scout was nosing around the garden, sloshing in the mud. Flyn knocked on the window and called, Get out of there, Scout! The dog wagged its tail and took a leisurely walk onto the veranda, leaving a trail of muddy paw prints.

Flyn pulled his school uniform from the cupboard—grey pants with a white shirt and a maroon jacket. The school rules said that the uniform must be worn by students at all times when attending school, and that meant even when travelling. Flyn didn’t mind. His bag was packed with his sports clothes, along with extra T-shirts and socks, and he would replace the uniform as soon as they reached camp.

Gran had made a special breakfast: pancakes with strawberry jam. You’ve got a long way to travel, and it could be a while before you have lunch, she said, so you need to start out with a full stomach.

The tooting of a car horn outside told him that Maisy was ready to go and waiting for him. He hugged Gran, and she smoothed his brown hair with her fingers. She liked doing that and often told him that his unusual tinge of copper was inherited from her.

He lugged his bag to the car and opened the back door. Good morning, Mrs. Monnard, Flyn said as he leaned forward to get in. He misjudged the door opening and bumped his head with a crack.

Ouch! He rubbed the top of his forehead.

Good morning, Mrs. Monnard said cheerily as she waved to Gran. Not used to your own size yet, Flyn?

Flyn went red with embarrassment. He did feel a bit gawky and at odds with his rapidly increasing size.

Can’t believe how rapidly you kids are growing up, Mrs. Monnard went on as she accelerated the car. Seems like just yesterday when you were both tiny and playing on the swing. And look how tall you are now.

Maisy, who was sitting beside her, looked back over her shoulder at Flyn and rolled her eyes. Her mother was always referring to their increasing height, even though Maisy was the smallest in her class. They were driving along with Mrs. Monnard, happily chatting about how fortunate they were that the rain had stopped and how much worse the weather could have been, when a truck roaring towards them from the opposite direction flashed its headlights.

Goodness … he’s in a hurry— Mrs. Monnard started to say, and then she broke off. Why, isn’t that Jake Joffler’s truck? she exclaimed.

Maisy and Flyn pivoted their heads to catch sight of the vehicle as it flew past.

That’s Joel in the front seat with him! Maisy said in surprise. He’s supposed to be coming to camp with us … and they’re going in the wrong direction. He’ll miss the bus.

Perhaps he forgot something, Flyn ventured.

Maisy pulled a face. That’d be just like him.

They rounded a bend, and without warning, Mrs. Monnard slammed on the brakes. Flyn and Maisy jerked forward against their seat belts and gulped. Straight in front of them was an emergency road barrier. Cars were backed up, and people stood around talking.

Maisy craned her neck. What’s going on? Her eyes widened and she gasped, Oh, no!

The road ahead was engulfed in water. Overnight, during the pounding rain, the river had broken its banks and completely flooded the surrounding areas. They could see only water. It covered not only the road and footpath but had inundated front gardens and even flooded some houses. They were aghast.

The bridge! yelled Flyn, pointing. Look at the bridge! It’s broken!

Main Bridge—which, as its name suggested, was the main bridge across the river from one side of town to the other—was without its middle. The pylons at each end stood upright, but the centre of the bridge had been shattered by the deluge of water that had struck it during the night, and it had simply washed away downstream. The river now ran right through its centre.

How’re we going to get to school? wailed Maisy. The bus will go without us.

Wait here, said Mrs. Monnard, and stepped out of the car. She walked over to the police officer manning the barrier. A small group of people had gathered there, and she recognized some of the other parents.

Mr. Quin, whose daughter, Ellouese, was waiting in the car, was fervently talking to the officer. Mrs. Monnard heard him say, "How can we get to school? Ellouese must get there on time. What’s the quickest way now?"

There is no quick way, the officer answered. The section of the bridge that washed away hit the old bridge downstream, and it collapsed.

Oh, no, said Mr. Sanstel, who had been listening intently. His son, Neerim, was waiting in the car with his mother. "My son has to go to camp, he said. There must be another way."

There is, answered the police officer. Forest Bridge upstream is undamaged and still open.

But that will take us nearly an hour to get to school, said Mr. Quin with dismay. I need to get to a business meeting.

Well then, I’d get going if I were you, answered the police officer calmly. Under these conditions, it could take you longer. It’s the only crossing, and one of the other parents is already driving that way.

Mrs. Monnard joined in. That would be Jake Joffler with his son Joel. We met his truck flying down the road.

We should ring the school and ask the bus to wait, Mr. Sanstel said. Just then his son Neerim walked over and spoke to him. I really don’t want to go on this camp. There’s no way we can get to school in time. Just let the bus leave. I’d much rather not go.

But his father was firm. We must make an effort to get there. I’ll ring the school and ask them to wait. He looked around at the others. How many kids are there from this side of the river?

There’s Ellouese, said Mr. Quin.

And I have Maisy and Flyn in the car, said Mrs. Monnard.

Right, said Mr. Sanstel looking at Neerim. That’s four.

And there’s Joel. He’s already on his way with his father.

Okay … that’s five. Surely they can hold the bus for them. Let’s get going … I’ll call the school, said Mr. Sanstel, pulling out his phone.

It took them a long time to drive to school—much longer than the one hour they had anticipated. The road was slippery and still wet, and whole sections of it were covered with mud and sludge. Some trees had been uprooted from the sodden earth and fallen across parts of the road, but early morning emergency crews had already cut them up and cleared them to the side.

The timber Forest Bridge was wobbly, but it stood high above the rapidly flowing river. One by one the cars drove across slowly, and everyone was relieved when they reached the other side.

As soon as the school came into view, they spotted Joel standing with his father beside the truck. Flyn leapt from the car and called, Where’s the bus?

It’s left. It didn’t wait, said Joel, completely crestfallen and looking as if he’d swallowed a bitter pill.

Maisy was incredulous. It can’t have! she said, and she turned to Mr. Sanstel, who’d just pulled up behind them and was getting out of his car. Did you ring the school and ask them to hold the bus for us, Mr. Sanstel? she asked.

I did, he answered. I can’t believe they didn’t wait … they knew we were on our way.

Neerim stepped from the car and said, "See, I knew I wasn’t meant to go. We should’ve gone straight home again instead of driving all this way for nothing. His face had a hint of triumph as he turned to his mother and said, I told you this morning that this atrocious weather was no good for camping." Mrs. Sanstel said nothing but stood quietly beside her husband.

Ellouese was still sitting in the car. Her father was pacing back and forth, urgently speaking on his phone, making gestures of exasperation.

They stood around looking miserable. They’d gone from excitement to disappointment and gloom. The parents were just discussing what to do next, when the school headmistress, Miss Topnotch, walked towards them, looking serious. She said, Good morning, and the corners of her mouth turned upwards into a strained smile.

I don’t see what’s good about it, muttered Joel.

Everyone politely wished her good morning, but Mr. Sanstel immediately followed it with the question, Why didn’t the bus wait for our children? We let you know we were on the way.

Mr. Quin said with a voice full of indignation, The two bridges in town were destroyed by the flood waters last night; that was completely out of our control. Our children shouldn’t miss out because of that! He puffed himself up.

And nor will they, Mr. Quin, answered Miss Topnotch calmly. She started to say something else but was interrupted by a booming Good morning! A big man with an unruly head of dark hair came from around the corner of the school building and strode through the car park towards them, greeting them with a jovial smile.

An almost imperceptible frown crossed Miss Topnotch’s face, as if she was annoyed at being interrupted, but she gave him a small nod and continued. The bus driver couldn’t wait for latecomers. The torrential rain over the past week has broken up the road in several places, so the bus will have to take a different and longer route to the campsite. However—she looked at the gloomy faces and turned to the big man now standing beside her—Mr. Portly has agreed to drive you to camp in the school minibus, and I have arranged for a female teacher to accompany you.

Instantly the mood changed. Everyone smiled—except for Neerim, whose face dropped. There was a chorus of Thank you, Mr. Portly, and Joel whooped exuberantly.

Settle down, said Joel’s father, but he smiled as he gave him a rough hug. He pulled Joel’s bag from the truck and said, You kids have a good time. He then jumped back into his truck and gave a short wave as he drove off. The other parents unloaded the bags from their cars, said goodbye, and left quickly, relieved that everything was well organized.

Mr. Portly smiled broadly. I have arranged for the minibus to have a quick check, and then we’ll be off. It’s a long drive, and we’ll arrive late. I will stay at the camp for one night, and one night only; then I’ll drive back tomorrow and leave you all to enjoy the outdoors.

Benjamin Portly was not the camping type. He enjoyed being in the natural outdoors, but only for short periods at a time, and he definitely did not care for sleeping overnight in a tent. However, he was always ready to help the students, even if it meant a night of discomfort for himself, and that made him a favourite teacher.

Mr. Portly disappeared and a short while later returned driving the minibus. He dislodged himself from behind the steering wheel and stepped down. Okay, on you get! He grinned as he lifted Maisy’s bag and pushed it aboard for her. Ellouese flicked back her long, blond hair, left her bulging bag standing on the ground, and got on the bus.

"Who d’you